I'm sick. With a virus. I just spent time advising a friend on another blog about spewing her symptoms in public. Said it was ok. And I've spewed some on my other blog. but the fact that I feel responsible to my readers not to spew has caused me to censure my thoughts. The fact is, I feel like a piece of warmed over fecal material. I'm tired of feeling shitty. Pharynx ripping cough that has rendered my larynx inoperable. Dripping sinuses. Fever. It feels as if all I've done this last year or so is be sick. Fight off upper respiratory disease. Fight off tuberculosis. I've left my self care up to doctor's. I've not done the things that could enhance my health. I'm one hundred pounds overweight. I eat sugar. I don't exercise. I eat crap. I don't go to sleep when normal people say I ought to. I hate my job. I really hate my job. I keep looking like I do in the picture to the left and I'm going to be dead before I'm fifty four. The question isn't who cares? The question is, do I care? And if I didn't would I write about it? No. I don't think I would.